Page 65 of A Taste like Sin

something.”

“Exacerbated? Like…” I parse the clinical term and can only come up with one comparable to it. “He

was poisoned?”

Her lips purse, her face pale. “I don’t know. With all of the other reports… I’m terrified, Juliana. I

know your father wanted extra security on you before he—”

“I’ll be fine.” I squeeze her hand reassuringly. “And I’ll be back. I just…”

Need to breakdown, alone in a back stairwell, where no one can hear me sob openly into my palm. I

thought Heyworth Thorne’s death would be the hardest reality to face—but this is worse. So much

worse. He’s still here, his face the familiar one of my childhood hero. But in those blank, soulless

eyes, all I saw was my reflection. My face. My guilt. This is all my fault.

He’s gone because of me.

And a part of me still hates him for it.

W ith the city in turmoil over my father’s recent scandal and subsequent health issues, there is

only one place I can escape to find some semblance of peace.

I try not to feel guilty for invading it. As long as I inhale deeply, relishing the scent of hundreds of

blooming flowers, it’s surprisingly easy to. Peace seems attainable here—as long as I ignore the fact

that I’m an intruder in this unique parallel universe. Its owner may make an exception for me though—

for a price.

“I never allow anyone in here,” he declares as he advances through the greenhouse, toward the

section I’m standing in, sandwiched between nightshade and oleander. “And Julio usually abides by

that rule. He must like you to risk upsetting me.”

“Or he could just pity me. I’m crying,” I say casually before he can deduce as much himself. “I’m

upset. I’m…I’m a mess—”

“Because your father is awake.”

It’s pointless to ask how he knows that. Where my family is concerned, he seems to know everything.

“He is awake. If you can call it that.” I finger the very edge of a petal of oleander, comparing the fresh

bloom to the dying one in my apartment. The contrast is a stark parallel to my father’s health: vitality

vs. decay. “He couldn’t even look at me. He can’t speak. The doctors don’t know if he’ll ever fully

recover. In fact, they’re prepared for the worst.” I rustle the documents clutched in my opposite fist.

“Diane even gave me his will, just in case.”